


Carry On Wayward Son

by castielanie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielanie/pseuds/castielanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How I imagine the series would end. Major Character Death, very short. Meant to be read along Americana by Jay Gruska.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry On Wayward Son

The memories are flashing before Dean’s eyes: his fingers gripping the Impala’s steering wheel for the first time; throwing a baseball with Bobby Singer. Slaying, loving, feeling. Being dragged to Hell, and pulled back up by the burning hand of an angel. His father’s voice; his mother’s hand upon his cheek. Then the fire in the nursery. And his baby brother Sammy in his arms as he ran from the house.

Memories of not-so-little Sam are mixed in, too, of course– giving the amulet to his big brother, fights with Dad. Packing his bags for Stanford. Trying to remember Mom. Hell, Heaven, then Hell again, and still trying to remember Mom. Jess’s eyes, Jess’s lips, Jess’s smile before she kissed him. And Jess’s smile after.

Jess would always smile after everything.

And Castiel. Oh, how he was not supposed to be involved so deeply in the scheme of things. The angel who rebelled, and wept, and killed, and sacrificed. More than the boys, even, some would say. But the little angel, with too much heart, once mighty, gigantic, powerful, reduced to a robot, and to a pawn at times. Heaven could not take away his pain. Or his self-hatred, or his guilt. It seemed as if this wave of intent could not see the bright side, no matter how hard he tried.

Tears. Throughout the ten, fifteen, twenty years… Gosh, none of them could seem to remember how long it’d been; sorrow and anger and sadness and death surrounded them like disease. And in those last few moments, all they can remember is crying.

But then, they remember their smiles. Bobby’s, John’s, Mary’s. Jess’s, Lisa and Ben’s, Pamela’s. Ellen’s, Jo’s, Garth’s. Even those they weren’t especially friends with, at times; Gabriel, Samandriel, Adam. 

Dean wishes he could cry. He wishes he could take back all the things he said to his brother that he wished he never did, and that he could go back to when Sam was his little baby brother again. He wishes Cas never left, always stayed, always kept close to him and never flew away. He wishes his life could have been decided for him and not by Heaven, not by Fate, not since Time began.

Sam wishes he could have done more. He wishes that he could have known what to do in times of trouble, that he knew what the best path to take was. That he could have kept his brother from going to Hell, and kept so many of their friends, their family, from dying. Because a small part of him still believes he caused so much.

They wish, they wish, they wish. But all they can do is smile.

As a battleground lay in ashes and blood around them, they smile. And as they wipe the sweat from their face, fighting, watching a war explode and its pillars trembling, falling. And as Cas winces, his broken ankle a scratch as he drags a bleeding Sammy behind a wall. As Dean yells at his brother, hold on, hold on, don’t you dare die again on me, Sammy, not this time, not like this, not now, not now.

And Cas tries to help to, being helpless beyond human capabilities, but oh, does he try. Dean’s face is so covered in red that Cas can no longer see his freckles, or the green in his eyes or the scars. 

Cas is not doing as the boys are doing. Cas is only remembering the pain. The tears, the blood, the scorch marks of wings upon the dirt. His time in Heaven, in Purgatory, and his guilt, his lies, his betrayal, his self-loathing. While the boys can grin and bear through combat, Castiel can only weep. 

Tears mix with red in his eyes, but Cas, and Dean, and Sam, and all of the brave warriors on the battlefield, can no longer worry for themselves. Because, though not many of them probably realize, except for the boys; this was the end from the start. Of course, they always talked about living the “normal” life after this was all done. Love, kids, a home. They knew it would never happen. 

Smiling. All Sam can do is smile as he forces a hellhound back into a burning fissure in the ground, and runs to fight another, though he sees no end in the future. Dean smiles as he wields an angel blade against a cloud of ravenous wind and darkness, not human but definitely evil. He grins as he remembers the apocalypse– everything was so much easier back then.

Castiel fights right along next to him, against undead soldiers and humanoid clouds of smoke. He is no fighter like Dean, but he manages, and it seems as though he can not lose; only because he either lives with Dean or dies with Dean, both of which he would be content.

But as the battle wages, Team Free Will can no longer smile. They can no longer remember the happy faces of their loved, but only darkness. Tears flood the land like the blood that runs down its banks. Fallen evils litter the ground like autumn leaves. The air still hums with the sound of clinging swords, and gunshots, and the crackle of sputtering fire. The night sky is not filled with stars, nor moon, nor airplane. Earth shattering trembling for just seconds, then silence as the doors of Hell lock. Sam limps to him brother, and shutters, and falls against metal, comfortably.

Dean grips his wrist tightly as he shakes him, but he is weakening as well. He twines his fingers with the once angel’s hand next to him, motionless, lightless, at peace. His vision falters, and his back touches the cold steel of the car behind him.

Arm around his little brothers shoulders, fingers entwined in his angel’s… The sound of silence comforts him. For once, it does not bore, nor make him suspect, nor sadden him. It makes him weep tears of closure, and of contentedness.

The final shot is of the Impala. About an hour’s walk away, it sits, hidden behind a wall of trees, clean and pristine. Soon, it is covered until it can no longer be seen unless one is looking. Ivy, weeds, low-lying branches weave around the doors and windows, and the windshield is painted with green. 

But everything is still there. The boys’ initials they carved into the wood. The Legos they shoved into the air ducts, the army man stuck in the ash tray. Dean’s rock tapes remain locked in the glove compartment. Sam’s phone remains lying in the backseat. Castiel’s trench coat remains folded neatly in the driver’s seat, ready for him to return. The Impala would be waiting for everyone to return. They always would.

Because, the Winchesters… were never, in fact, homeless.


End file.
